


Sidetracked

by Bluebird202



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Post-War, Pre-MTMTE, Secret Solenoid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebird202/pseuds/Bluebird202
Summary: Maybe there was more than one factor leading to Bumblebee’s sudden and unexpected decision to kick him out of his own office, but Prowl blames it on the arguments.Secret Solenoid gift for pequiner on Tumblr!
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18
Collections: Secret Solenoid '20-'21





	Sidetracked

**Author's Note:**

> This was super fun to write! Hope you enjoy!

Maybe there was more than one factor leading to Bumblebee’s sudden and unexpected decision to kick him out of his own office, but Prowl blames it on the arguments.

On a normal day, Prowl spends hours arguing with Starscream, with the Decepticons, with the NAILs, sometimes with Bumblebee, trying to get these people to see some _sense_ because can’t you see that this and this and this are going to lead to complete hysteria? No, of course they can’t, they’re thinking in the short term, or _maybe_ they refuse to see how reversing the adoption of some minor law will in fact actively hinder their own goals, and also everyone else’s goals too, _Starscream_ -

Today, Prowl spends hours and hours arguing with Starscream, with the Decepticons, with the NAILs, yes, even with Bumblebee, trying to negotiate and renegotiate zoning laws regarding several sections of Iacon that will be destroyed and rebuilt by construction crews, smoothing over issues with the police force, resolving housing issues with newly-arrived NAILs, addressing some sort of absolutely ridiculous argument (that someone has redirected to him in complete _disregard_ and _neglect_ for their duties) between an employer and a potential hire regarding the latter, who has too many arms, no, that’s a perfectly normal if slightly unevenly distributed number of limbs, in fact, this mech would statistically be a great hire for electrical work, _what are you talking about_ \- 

It would be safe to say Prowl is positively fuming when Bumblebee corners him in the hallway. They exchange pleasantries, and then Bumblebee goes and completely blindsides him:

“I’ve been thinking… that it would be a good idea to give yourself some time off,” he says innocently, like there aren’t a million things wrong with that.

“What?” Prowl has to disagree. The provisional government always needs fine-tuning, and the amount of time he works is already barely enough to keep everything running smoothly. “No,” he says in a voice that hopefully makes it clear he’s completely ready to fight over this. For good measure, he crosses his arms over his bumper as an additional go-away signal.

Bumblebee _sighs_. Primus. “Prowl, this isn’t a suggestion. All of this-” he gestures broadly at him- “is starting to affect your work. And I thought you might like someone to let you know.”

Of course Prowl is offended, because Bumblebee has just gestured to all of him. Prowl must be slipping if the stress is visible. “I’m fine,” he says, stiffly, because of course he is.

Bumblebee gives him a sharp-eyed look that replies, _No, idiot._ Prowl glares back, and prepares himself to defend his case -

So he takes the time off to appease his friend and not because he has been unceremoniously kicked out of his office. At Bumblebee’s behest, he clears off the top of his desk and locks a stack of blank datapads in the drawer. The datapad he’s been carrying around all day and working on slides into the back of his subspace, where no snoop will ever be able to find it unless something has already gone terribly wrong.

When he recovers from the indignity of being kicked out of his own office, Prowl calmly locks his door and leaves through the front entrance. He rounds the corner of the building, and when there are no cameras to see, stops and lets his posture slump imperceptibly as he allows himself to contemplate everything that has gone wrong. Bumblebee is hard to work with, sometimes, but Prowl will work with what he’s given. And now, what Prowl is given is time off, whether he likes it or not. He does not like it, but he will work with it.

Optimally, he would find another terminal to work from; but no, when Bumblebee asks around and someone inevitably reports to him that Prowl was dutifully plugged into a terminal after their _discussion_ , he would turn some sort of disappointed expression on him and launch into another lecture on the importance of taking care of oneself. Prowl already takes adequate care of himself, so Bumblebee’s rhetorical skills would be best put to use somewhere they are actually needed, like negotiations. In any case, the time saved listening to Bumblebee talk is infinitely more valuable at the discussion table.

Going back to his quarters is out of the question for the same reason. With so little to keep his attention, he would inevitably end up blazing through the datapad in his subspace. Bumblebee would notice its mysterious completion in the morning when Prowl ends up carrying a new one, unable to tote complete work around for appearances’ sake, which would end in the same result.

The only option that leaves is staying out in Iacon. What even is there to do? Prowl doesn’t feel like visiting any businesses, most of which he knows nothing about, and there’s nobody he particularly wants to spend time with even if they did reciprocate the thought. He knows the new Iacon in an abstract sense. He’s updated his map of old Iacon, created and annotated his mental map of the new city, downloaded it to his workstation and used it in his planning.

Perhaps there’s a thought. Prowl hasn’t actually been out and about very much, yet, keeping mostly to four or five locations and only wandering into new areas when an errand leads him there. He passes by unexplored streets and buildings on his way to and from work each cycle. He could - fill in the map himself. He’s been dependent on other primary sources for many, many vorns; much too long, maybe. The thought of gathering the data himself is, perhaps, nostalgic. Calculations whir in his processors, but they don’t produce anything useful for once and he dismisses the threads.

Prowl doesn’t really know what to think when he transforms, points himself in a random direction, and drives. 

Cybertron’s evening sky fades into night and gleams as he travels, plotting a path to avoid patrols while exploring the city. Iacon’s new, under-construction state is certainly different from what he remembers; memory-Iacon is much less bombed out, for one. 

There are a fair number of mecha on the streets, thinning out as Prowl leaves the more populated parts of the city. He ventures out, out into areas untouched for vorns except by those scouting the city for resettlement and other intrepid adventurers. He sets his passive scanners to high sensitivity in case they pick up another living mecha, despite the low, low chance of encountering someone else. Then he lets his focus settle on everything else.

Some of the more interesting things Prowl finds in his wandering:

A section of wall from a late Golden Age theatre, still standing. It’s several times his height and just as long, and it’s a miracle the wall still stands, considering the target its tall, jagged edges jutting above everything else present. The carved, swirling patterns decorating the wall distort Prowl’s scans artistically, but in an alarming way that might make him dizzy if he scans it too many times. He remembers the theatre standing against the skyline, but nothing had ever led Prowl to enter while the building had still stood.

A wide side street, vendors’ booths remarkably intact, which leads into a decorative courtyard filled with geometric statues, the largest of which has toppled from applied brute force. This area of old Iacon he remembers fondly, having been here frequently during his detective days. The second cart to the northeast had been a crowd favorite for the vendor’s jellied energon treats. Prowl recalls more than a few surreptitious visits on his off-cycles, and also steadfastly passing by during his shifts.

A series of dark warehouses Prowl stalks though in a fit of curiosity. Most of the supplies inside have been plundered, save the shelves themselves and several stacks of pipe in various very small diameters, which Prowl immediately marks for pickup by supply crews. A search of the records confirms the warehouses held pipeline supplies. Prowl’s not sure what sort of uses such small pipes might have and he’s not familiar enough with the subject to extrapolate, but the supply crews will figure something out. Maybe whoever cleared out everything else was just as confused.

When an alert on his chronometer finally signals Prowl’s need to return, he has a long drive ahead of him. He meticulously finishes annotating the map, noting landmarks and locations to investigate further, and unsubspaces a cube of plain midgrade. He swirls it, motes of light shifting; the cube glows fluorescent in the dim lighting as he sips, casting a blurry shadow of Prowl onto the wall behind him. 

He arrives at the building and breezes into his quarters on schedule. Immediately, he beelines for the berth. When Prowl powers down for the night, the datapad in the back of his subspace is still there, untouched.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Prowl calming himself down (with any innocent method) after a stressful day.
> 
> This was intended to be canon compliant, but I missed the memo about Cybertron becoming a blank canvas, so... slightly AU we go!
> 
> Alternate titles:  
> Kicked Out of His Own Office  
> Time Out


End file.
